Down by the lake I saw three men lying on the ground, talking. When they got up to go to dinner, one hugged another around the middle from behind and trudged up the bank with him that way, laughing. “Honey, I lost my ring and I want to sell the house,” the third one said, mocking a homecoming speech.
At dinner I sat across from a young broker who shared his wine with me and complained about his girlfriend. The meal (tournedos of beef) was festive and communal. The cs go skin shop long tables are lit by gas pipes that spring from the ears of wooden owl silhouettes three feet above the table, a half dozen of these per table. Wine gets passed around (though members must sign for the bottles on a chit). Old friends move among the tables, kissing one another, and a ruddy Bohemian gets up on a bench and, as his friends cheer him on, removes his cap and opens his mouth to sing. Great intimacy is achieved in song.
The physical aspect of Bohemian male bonding can’t be overlooked. Even 100-year-old Grove annals have a homoerotic quality, with references to “slender, young Bohemians, clad in economical bathing suits.” Nudity was more common then. Today AIDS has put a damper on the Grove’s River Road pickup scene, which Herb Caen used to write about in his San Francisco Chronicle gossip column. Just the same, a man on his own often gets invited back to camps by gay Bohemians. The weirdest approach I experienced came from a tall redhead in western wear, a fourth-generation Californian. He wandered up with a beer in his hand as I sat reading on a bench and, pausing for emphasis, pronounced, “In the beginning the Lord created — cunts.”
When Ronald Reagan came to the green parasol the next day, the organ player broke into “California, Here I Come.” Reagan said that it was good to be back. The Grove had been a major factor in his “homesickness… when you are forced to be away, as I was, for p90 cs go eight years.” The speech was canned and courtly. Though he cursed now and then, he seemed uncomfortable with the word damn, which he said almost sotto voce. He did take a crack at toilet humor:
“You know, I got to take a second to do something naughty here, since this is an all-stag arrangement. You know how many times we’ve been in someone’s home, and we’ve wanted to go to the powder room, and we’ve maybe said, ‘Excuse me, I’ve got to powder my nose.’ Well, a man did that at a party, and his hostess said, when he came back, she said, ‘You must have the longest nose in the world.’ He said, ‘What are you talking about?’ She said, ‘Your fly’s open.’”